New writing challenge for this year! All of the activity has been happening on the Twisting Nether Gazette, but why not post here too? There are some rules, I'm guessing much the same as the previous challenges, to keep things interesting. Feel free to get involved!

The priestess couldn't even see the ground, standing on the edge of the platform and looking down through the gray-blue haze and heavy fog that somehow persisted in the unforgiving and bitter winds. On the ground, the freeze was painful. The winds were biting cold and readily cut straight through any cloth, leather, or fur, anything that attempted to guard against the frigidity. But up there? It would seem a relief if she was to just go back down to the frosted ground rather than take the portal back to the City. Fitting that he would have chosen a place so inhospitable to life.

It was the first the woman was able to stand still since she arrived at the cursed place, and a violent shiver finally began to take hold of her. She expected the shift from pain to numbness to be more gradual, but it was more instantaneous with the lack of movement. She couldn't feel her nose. She couldn't feel her fingers or feet, but she rather welcomed the numbness. Her hood kept her ears from freezing completely, but she reached up to pull her hood down and allow the wind to flow through her hair until a plated hand stopped her with a gentle grip. His battered shield was still fixed to his arm as the paladin reached around the priestess to drape his cloak around her shoulders. It was still much warmer than she was. She absently expected the plate to be cold as well when he silently pulled her close with his arm around her, but it too warmed her and she suddenly became aware of the icy air again.

Her eyes drifted from the ground she couldn't see to the rocky ridges jutting through the unusual cloud cover, and eventually to the dark ring that seemed to circle the world on the distant horizon. She predicted profound thoughts when it finally came to pass. She thought she would stay behind, alone, in deep contemplation and reflection on the last few years of her life and how they meant to lead up to this moment. There was a sense of completion, yes, but her unexpected impassivity was also greatly welcome. Perhaps focusing on escaping the frigid gusts was best for now, anyway. The paladin watched the priestess silently. He was more uninterested in the view than in nudging her into the direction of the portal a small distance away when the magister announced that it would be closing soon.

"I guess some rum and a fire would be best for now, yeah?" The priestess finally smirked when the paladin chortled at her.

"Yeah. We live to fight and die another day." He spoke quietly with a finality that sounded strange coming from him, with his usually stubbornly light personality. Her eyes moved to gaze at him for only a couple moments before he rolled his eyes and took her shoulders into his hands. A faint smile fixed itself on her face as she was awkwardly pushed toward the portal without as much as another glance toward the vanquished.

The warrior had once told the priestess that her own peace came from living for those that were lost along the way. The priestess was never quite sure how she could do that herself, but she was determined now more than ever to try.

Even before the damage done to her people as a whole, this was for her mother.

Journal entry one: I arrived home finally, and mother isn't here. She couldn't have gone far, she was expecting me! Excited to be seeing me after a couple years, even. I pulled some strings in Dalaran and got my orders delayed by another two weeks so I'd have extra time to see her, and she knew it. Something didn't come up, or she would have told me. Or told Analiese to tell me. At the very least, left a note. Even if something did come up, she dotes on me far too much to just vanish like this. I'm going to write this all down so she knows exactly how worried I was when she decides to show up again.

Entry two: This isn't like her. A few says still, I've been here a week and a half, and not a word from her or anyone. I checked with anyone she would have been with. Her students, their families. I know she says she sometimes takes fruits or candies to them when class is not in session, her own way of keeping up on them and making sure they aren't getting lax in their studies. The sanctums, I heard from various people that she started spending a bit more of time with them. Probably aiding in research and all that. The vendors in the bazaar and markets didn't remember seeing her around recently. I know she even used to go check on the Farstriders regularly and bring bread she made for them, and they've seen nothing. At least they are decent enough to go searching for her, or so they say.

Entry three: Four weeks, and nothing. I know she's able and accomplished in her own right, but I know something is wrong. I convinced the City to send an investigator. All they've been able to tell me so far is that I should stay here and wait for her to come home, but what good is this doing?

Entry four: I left Analiese in charge of the watch and traveled throughout Lordaeron. I spent the last three months checking each major city and town, and nothing. I thought maybe she just got her dates mixed up and went to get some supplies or something for when I got home? She does that sometimes. Rare, but it happens, particularly when she's gotten too excited over some event happening. There are specific shops, or at least specific artisans in each city she used to take me to, places she would definitely visit if she was there, and none of them remember seeing her since the last visit a half a year ago. Analiese said investigators came to check, even a magister or two, but she's seen nor heard a thing from mother. The magisters didn't say if they were looking for me rather than her, but if it was to check for something arcane, don't they think I would have found it myself?

Entry five: Grandfather came to urge me to stop looking for something that won't turn up. My positions with the magisters isn't in question, even with my extended absence. Something I know he has control over, but I know he wants me to stop fretting over my search and move on. It's only been eight months since I arrived. I don't appreciate him advising me to sign the deeds and other papers he brings me for her property and possessions. They're hers, and she'll need them when she turns up again and then I'll be able to worry about finding my own.

The gift she said she had for me was sitting on the floor when I very first arrived, but I haven't opened it. I'm not going to until I find her.

Last edited by Breygrah on October 13th, 2015, 7:27 pm, edited 1 time in total.

The Shadow always brought with it a chill Aaren couldn't shake. A part of the reason she was so drawn to the Light was its life-giving warmth and how she could call upon it at will to envelop her and make her forget some of the things that plagued her continually, at least for a little while.

Shadow itself wasn't cold, per se. It wasn't quite the same as the unforgiving dunes of snow in Frostfire, the painfully frigid winds of Icecrown, even the refreshingly crisp powderings of Winterspring. It was motionless cold without cause while standing in the rays of the sun.

The chill came wholly from within and she never liked it. Using the shadow more often and for longer durations made it easier to forget how cold it was. It made it easier to forget what she became when she allowed them to consume her. Easier to forget the things she'd do when shade gently guided her, a curved grin upon its face if it ever had such a thing, leading her deeper into the icy aura and numbing her to the searings she'd dole out. The painful explosions of shadow, the burn of shadowfrost, the instruments of darkness suddenly cutting through the mind of its unwitting victim more cleanly than a newly sharpened blade. Even with all the good she'd done, with all the good she intended to do, the shadow made her cruel. She wielded it with absolute mastery as her inclinations so decided.

Aaren was taught for years that Shadow brought balance, where Light falls there must also be shadow. While it did have its proper uses, she was still haunted by the things she once used it for. The chill often found her in the night, a silent howl of laughter in her mind to jar her awake in the darkest hours.

Last edited by Breygrah on October 13th, 2015, 7:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.

It had been years since she'd been to the place, or to the Barrens at all for that matter. Not since long before the journey into Draenor, before the ruin and victory that would come in short repetitious cycle with her time there. It was the most tumultuous time of her short life, being in this world where by all rights they didn't belong, and the events sure mirrored that train of thought. With rare exceptions, her time since recovering from whatever that Morinth person had done was spent in the wilderness. The warrior remained in Draenor a short time at the request of the arakkoa friends she had made along the way, clearing out remnants of their hostile brethren and Iron Horde still entrenched in the dark and dense forests.

The slight tauren's sights were next set on an orphanage in Northrend. The child wasn't hers, and in all honesty being in charge of a small person was rather horrifying, but the warrior became apt at focusing on better things that were to come. The headmistress warned her not to waste her time with the unruly tauren child, or was she taunka? The orc woman couldn't tell. She just knew the time among oracle and frenzyheart children made her impulsive and quarrelsome in the worst ways and even tried to dissuade Breygrah from taking the calf under her watch. The woman's patience was strong, as she had proven to people time and time again, and her longsuffering would help mold the child as she taught her how to focus her energies. Brey would be the tauren influence in her life, she would teach her the traditions and customs that she herself would even forsake for years until now, though she would seek another for the caretaking, the best mother she knew thus far would care for her totally and completely. Freah would be an amazing shaman one day, especially under the guidance of Pythral. That would come a little later, however.

Once they left Northrend, they made her way to the Nagrand of Outland. Breygrah would have never admitted it, and would feel somewhat ashamed to think about it for a moment, but she liked the mystic air and broken lands of the shattered world. The islands high above the land proved perfect and safe places in which to share a meal or begin the earliest lessons with her new charge in tow; the spirits on the ground would whisper and comfort.

The two traveled Kalimdor next. The Eastern Kingdoms would wait until her small burden was old enough to keep a more vigilant watch; Breygrah never particularly enjoyed the more 'civilized' lands in favor of her teeming wildlands. Silithus was too dusty, Tanaris too sandy, Un'goro too damp. The new water-land of Thousand Needles made the warrior uncomfortable in her plate. The child loved the everlasting green of Feralas, the oasis of Desolace, even with the presence of the elves that made the child fluff up her fur and growl ferociously. From there, they flew to Winterspring to a refreshing chill that excited Freah, and she would spend her few days there playing with the few goblin children in Everlook and building men and kodos in the snow, packed strong enough to climb to the top for a view their short legs couldn't afford them. At least, that's what they thought.

They didn't arrive at Twilight Mesa until late in the night, when Freah was deeply asleep wrapped in a blanket. Brey set her down and started a fire nearby before walking out toward the edge of the mesa and drawing a circle in the dirt with her hoof. The air was still, but the wind carried whispers to her ears that she missed since her travels to Draenor, whispers that used to be her guidance and lullaby. She had grown greatly since then, for sure. She wished she could erase events of the last few months but knew she was a better person now for them. She settled down in the center of the drawn form on the ground with hardly a sound but her breath and the crackling of the fire behind her.

Last edited by Breygrah on October 13th, 2015, 7:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Dorn Thunderhorn had not seen his youngest child in far too long, longer than he would even admit and it left an aching void in his heart that wouldn't dull with time. He thought of her every day without fail, usually after remembering an inward joke they shared, or of the times she would help him at his firepit that doubled as an alchemy lab. He loved his mate Malana dearly, but her mouth would drive their daughter from the home that he tried to keep open for her.

Breygrah, having come into her own not only as a warrior, but a protector, never felt quite comfortable around her mother. This was especially true after she chose to leave the nomadic village behind to find her own place in life. Malana made her feel even smaller than she was at times, all the while he saw it and said nothing. He knew it would have only made her feel even more isolated to voice his concerns, but he constantly wrestled with regret in not guarding his youngest from her mother's lashing tongue. Still, he thought and more importantly hoped she always knew she had his silent unwavering support.

He would always curse the family and village dynamics for pushing away his little girl, but he always knew she would be okay even without him to take care of her. Strong, just like her mother, but silent and patient like her father. Helpless to stop her, he ran to the nearest hill upon her initial departure and watched until she vanished into the distance. Then, he sat and watched even longer until the afternoon turned to evening, evening turned to night.

She rarely wrote, he knew she wouldn't knowing how she disliked trying to put her thoughts onto parchment, or words in general. She visited even less often, and when she did it was usually cut short after a tantrum from her mother. Still, he watched and waited for her or her word. His patience was more true than his girl's, but patience didn't mend or prevent the pangs in his heart. He certainly didn't have any favorites of his four children, and much less would act upon those inclinations. But, if he did indeed have one, it would have been her.

Malana and most of anyone that would have cared were away on a hunt when Dorn heard the too rare but wholly familiar clanking of plate bouncing around a hip to a short stride in the still evening air. He left a pot boiling over a fire to hurry and meet Breygrah on the road. He knew his elixir would be ruined, but he didn't care. He cared more about his gentle daughter, and surprisingly on this occasion, the child she carried sleeping in her arms. Breygrah slowed her stride as they neared each other as her father did the same with his eyes dancing between the two. First, they conveyed confusion at the sight of his daughter carrying a child several years old that he had heard nothing about, not even a suggestion. They were quickly overcome at the joy of the prospect, paired with Brey being there in the first place.

"Is... she Akagar's...?" He was cautious regarding the girl with black fur in contrast to the woman's brown hue when a thought occured to him. "But, no, wait... his fur was white, was it not?" It doesn't even matter, young one he wanted to say, but he held his breath with the hope that he didn't embarrass the poor girl.

"She isn't mine." Brey finally broke her silence, quietly through a lopsided smile that mirrored her father's own perfectly.

Tesonii slept solidly, but Aaren didn't sleep much. Perhaps if she ever meant to wake the mage-knight it wouldn't be so difficult, but she usually got up to roam her grounds soon after her companion fell asleep. The only problem was wriggling out of her grasp, but no matter what the priestess would do Tesonii wouldn't ever wake or even really stir, and tonight was no exception.

Typically, Aaren would roam silently through the snow and wind to either reflect on the things and people of the day that pissed her off, or what she would do in the future in response instead. Nothing that would truly happen, of course, but she enjoyed the imagery she afforded herself. More recently, she would use it to clear her mind of any of those strong feelings while inspecting the grounds. Not that she needed to check on it, everything was always as it should be.

Tonight, she considered recent things that have happened, as well as the things that happened months or years or decades ago. Things she usually went out of her way to forget or at the very least just refused to think about at any depth. Pulling the heavy cloak around her shoulders she found a smooth rock formation to perch herself upon and her thoughts drifted from the death of her mother to the death of the woman that wasn't her mother. How could she ever tell that woman's daughter of what happened, or would it even matter? Her chest seized, she stood and continued her pacing around the empty buildings and dark campus. She hated thinking of timelines and the manipulations thereof by people and creatures that had no business doing so, hated dragons more now than she ever had before.

She thought of the few memories of her mother's small family that seemed to vanish when she was very young. She thought of her father's family that would hardly consider her as such, (associated noble families to a lesser extent) and how they would finally forsake her and her mother when she blatanty refused to serve the magisters as they did, as the father she never knew did. She thought of years of her training in a monastery surrounded by mountains and hills and how it still made her happy to be all but isolated from the arcane even now, years and years later.

She thought of the sacrifices she made in Outland, though recently that time of her life had shown its ugly head again and again in the weeks past. The magister enjoyed her torment, but that isn't what she would focus on. Ambushes were prevented, plans were found and transports were learned of, everything she became aware of transmitted to her superiors with her cunning. Instead of the pain she inflicted she thought of the lives she saved. Aaren didn't think of herself so highly as to think she was so critical to the victories in Shadowmoon Valley and the Netherstorm, but she was glad to have done her part to help.

Returning to Silvermoon made her almost think twice of what happened, however. They expected her to remain silent in regards to the things she had seen and done. She never thought she should receive even a commendation, but she was invisible and merely existed quietly until ships bound for the Frozen Wastes were commissioned. She was never build for fighting, but poured every bit of herself into rigorous training and crippling the scourge's operations anywhere they existed until the doors of the Citadel were breached. Her time in Icecrown is why she will never be bothered by the winds and snows of Frostfire.

She was glad for such an uneventful life since then, until now. Her hatred of dragons of almost every color of the rainbow was more of a perpetual thought, now. Chronomancy was the most insane of the magister's studies, and never seeing or hearing of it again for the rest of her days would still not be enough. She didn't belong in Borrowed Time and wondered how soon her usefulness would run out and she'd be run off from a garrison she never visited aside from neccessity. She didn't belong anywhere else, either, though. It had been years since the lingering misfit feeling trailed behind her. She wondered how often Tesonii, someone much different than most other people she's met, had felt the same thing. Her thoughts regarding Tes usually turned to wonder when Aaren would finally break her poor heart, so she always moved on from the imagery rather quickly.

A gust of cold against Aaren's face brought her back to the night. She thought about how she wasn't always so cynical, but she couldn't quite remember when exactly that was anymore. If not just sometime before journeying into Outland, it must have been when she was a child and didn't know any better of how the world worked. Her flyers carried her the worlds over, but still not as much as she led her hawkstrider on the ground. She'd seen every land and worked in every one. If there was nothing else she knew of how life worked, it was that the only thing that was ever sure was the past.

That, and that Tesonii would be upset to wake up cold and find herself alone, again.

Freah could be a little terror at times, but Breygrah was patient. Even with all the traveling, all the new wonderous things the girl saw, she was angry and even at this young age just like her father, Brey thought. Most of the time she was agreeable, but those times she didn't get what she wanted? The small calf made sure that everyone within at least a mile would hear it. Brey didn't mind. She let Freah kick her little hooves against the plate on her legs as she held her. She held Freah's arms when the girl decided that flailing them would be better use of her energy and calmly waited for her energy to be spent.

She was angry when it was time to leave Winterspring; Freah was never finished playing with the snow. She was angry when she had to come in for the night in Feralas out of the gentle forest rains. She was angry to be leaving 'grappa' (as he preferred to be called) in the Stonetalon ridges. She was angry that she couldn't chase diemetradons and devilsaurs with a tiny club befitting her size in the Crater. She was angry that she couldn't ride the trees shuffling about in Azshara or the kodos in Desolace. She was probably most angry that she couldn't jump into the waters of Thousand Needles after she finished the various treats the goblins had for sale on the barge.

Brey never raised her voice and only moved swiftly to protect the girl, from the environment or herself. She usually smiled through the tantrums and spoke in her usual smile and gentle voice while the girl's own baying usually drowned her out. She explained why Freah must or must not do the thing she wanted, mostly to deaf ears. Deaf ears for the first couple of weeks, anyway.

The rogue wandered around an empty Stormwind in the middle of the night. She didn't sleep much at night anyway. That particular night she made her way to what remained of the Park. The guards keeping people away from the cliffs and rubble were busy talking to each other, and made it easy enough to slip past them where their lanterns didn't glow. She perched herself on a crumbling block of stone obscured by the shadows and thought about the paladin she'd never see again. It had been years already, but she never went back to their home in Ironforge and it was the first she had come to see the wreckage of her favorite part of the city, the place she probably spent most of her time when she wasn't snatching coin purses or stalking for bounties. A long time ago, now.

Her red locks fell from behind her ear as she looked down at the rings in her palm. One was flashy, too flashy for common folk to have and be real, and it certainly wasn't. The second a more plain but more real wedding ring, though it still looked rather expensive. They were from the paladin, not anything she swiped from a dresser or vault. She separated them, one in each palm and watched the glinting in the little bit of light they caught in the shadow of the charred beam blocking out the moon in the clear sky. The wedding band sat in her left palm, the engagement ring in her right. She flipped the ring up in her right hand to catch it with her fingers, and a sharp flick of her wrist sent it flying through the air. Her eyes didn't follow it, she didn't listen for the tiny splash or near silent ting of it bouncing off of stone or wood. She looked at the ring in her left hand.

The rogue lazily pulled the chain from her neck and looked at the bauble hanging from it after dropping the remaining ring into a pocket on her chest. The chain was discarded and she took the object it held into her palm. It was crystal clear, what looked to be a flame frozen in time. Or ice. It was still cold in her gloved hand. She sent it sailing through the air as well, and this time listened for the plop into the water. The woman stretched casually as she rose with a sigh of relief and made her way back into the city proper.

Paise Wrenn was getting bored and restless. Her study was silent save for the crackling of flame and quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Her little sister was long asleep in her room down the hall. The logs on the hearth were near burnt completely to ash as the woman stared into the glowing embers over a deep red wine that sat mostly untouched.

She was a paladin trained proudly in Stormwind. She was a knight fighting the undead for the Argent Dawn. She was once a champion for the Light fighting the forces of the Legion in Outland. And now? Paperwork, brokering, treasury. A few public projects, a bit of maintaining some tasks for the Church, but mostly private accounts these days. Nothing of any real interest.

For a time Paise preferred the calm. Preferred her soft servant's robes to the heavy plate she trained and worked in for years. She didn't think twice about staying behind while her peers traveled to the Frozen Wastes to fight the Scourge. She never liked the cold anyway. When the Cataclysm happened, she was content to stay in the City and tend to the citizens and injured heroes. Paise had no interest in traveling Pandaria or learning about the strange Pandaren or whatever their problems were, but the re-ignition of the Dark Portal piqued her curiosity.

But now, word said the fight in this past that wasn't theirs was near through, and thinking about it made her forehead wrinkle. She didn't like the idea of traveling to a different time and felt that her world's forces were meddling more than was necessary, but still she felt a longing. She missed the rugged dented plate rubbing against her skin through torn clothing. She missed the heavy axe in her hands as she smote the undead, chastised demons, cut down fel orcs through righteous fury for her kingdom and people. She did no good anymore. She helped people and entities with taxes and storage, a job that was becoming unbearably dull and lifeless. How upset would the Pure and the Faithful be to see their former student silently whining about a safe assignment, a secure position, a quiet post in the City's heart?

Paise left her forgotten wine on the table and looked to the northern wall of her study. Her plate was displayed on the wall, she told herself and her young sister that it was a reminder of what has been sacrificed for their life now, but she didn't even know any more. Her best axe was fixed beside it, gleaming and radiating a warm aura still years later in the dim light.

The woman stood and walked to the ornate display before lifting her gown over her head and reaching for the chestpiece.